


Falling for You

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Car Accident, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reese blames himself all the time, Slow Build, Slow Burn, They're Hopeless, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: Special thanks to M_E_Lover for all her beta work and help :) She's the best!
Relationships: Harold Finch & John Reese, Harold Finch/John Reese
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to M_E_Lover for all her beta work and help :) She's the best!

“Harold I’m just finishing up here. I’ve tied Wallace up for Fusco and Carter. I should be back at the library soon,” John said absently as he walked away from the warehouse.

“Wonderful job, Mr. Reese. I’ll be here.” There was a bark at the other end of the line, “as will Bear,” Harold chuckled. 

John tapped his earpiece with a smile, cutting off his end of the line momentarily. He got into the Lexus and headed off for the library.

Another successful number meant that he and Harold had saved another life. He never got tired of this feeling. The mere thought that he had this now, instead of a cold, wet, concrete slab in a homeless shelter, made him ache with thankfulness.

For so long he was convinced he was going to end up in an unmarked grave, not remembered by anybody, and certainly not missed. But now… now he had something, someone.

The traffic light he was waiting for turned green and he pressed his foot to the gas. He hadn’t made it halfway through the intersection when he heard a loud horn and his head whipped around to look out the window.

He saw the SUV smash into the side of the car. He barely had time to breathe before the airbags knocked him back and sideways. The crash itself seemed to go on forever; as adrenaline coursed through his system. He could see there was no hope.

He felt his head smash through the window, felt the shards of glass entering his scalp. Lights swirled like crazy pinwheels and the noise of the car’s metal smashing as it rolled over the concrete road was almost deafening before everything came to an abrupt stop.

John lifted his hand to touch his head and it came away red and sticky with blood. He saw spots in the corners of his vision, making his head feel like the only thing inside of it was static.

He was fleetingly aware of an irony taste in his mouth but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. At times his eyelids fluttered shut and he thought he must be at home in bed because it was so dark.

 _Mister Reese…?_ Came a whisper…

Why the pain, God, why was there so much pain? Then came a flicker of blue light, the sound of sirens, wait, police?

_John…?_

John spit out blood, coughing, and tears streaming down his cheeks from the sudden sharp, pain in his chest. _Harold? Where was Harold?_ He thought as his eyes fluttered shut and he drifted towards the darkness.

#

Harold hesitantly made his way down the hospital corridor. The sounds and sights of hospitals brought back memories that he did not want to think about again… ever. Memories of surgeries and mind-numbing pain medications… screws and pins in his spine, robbing him of life as he’d known it.

He pushed open the door that said, ‘emergency staff only’.

A gurney was rushed by him. Its occupant was covered in a vast amount of blood, doctors and nurses were pushing the bed, shouting things that Harold only semi-understood.

He heard the sound of a squealing heart monitor, clanking of medical equipment, and groaning and moaning of patients who were in far too much pain.

Then he saw him.

He was in an ER bay. He noticed his suit first. It was covered in blood, ripped, and laid over a chair in the closed-off space. He saw his hands… laying limply off the side of the hospital bed. He couldn’t see his face… doctor’s attaching wires and inserting IV’s were in the way.

A defibrillator was quickly wheeled into the area by a nurse. She took the paddles and handed them to a much older, male, doctor.

John was dying.

The squealing heart monitor he’d heard was his partner’s.

He took a few hesitant steps closer, a hole in his gut and his hands shaking.

A gentle hand found his shoulder, “Sir… you can’t be back here…” It was a nurse, a compassionate smile on his face. His brows furrowed at Harold, who looked like he was about to throw up.

“Finch…?” Carter’s voice came from behind him. She walked over to them, “I’m sorry about this. I gave him the wrong directions.” She flashed her badge, “his friend was in an accident.”

“Oh. Not a problem, officer. The waiting room is just through there,” the young man said kindly as he pointed behind them.

Carter put her hand on Harold’s back, leading him out of the room. “What are you doing back here? John’s in surgery…” she whispered, pushing open the double doors to the waiting room.

He looked up at her, his eyes wide, “you mean… that wasn’t…?” Without finishing his sentence, Harold located the bathroom and limped as quickly as he could to the room, pushing open a stall door and practically throwing himself towards the toilet. With one violent heave, he emptied his stomach. His stomach kept contracting violently while it forced everything up and out.

His face was white and dripping bile, sweat, and tears. He lurched forward and sunk to his knees. Once he was finished, he sat back, his back hitting the stall door. His head fell to rest on the door, he wiped his mouth and rubbed his red inflamed eyes. 

Once he had gathered himself, he made his way out of the stall to the sink and washed his mouth out. The paleness and clamminess of his skin were going to have be ignored for now. He splashed some water on his face and took a deep breath.

_John’s alive. For now. Take a breath, Harold._

He closed his eyes, took a few more breaths, and made his way back out to the waiting room to sit with Carter.

#

“You okay…?” Carter asked when she saw the normal put together and formal man in front of her, now with his hair disheveled, pale, sweaty, and out of sorts.

“Just fine, detective…” Harold said, sitting down in the chair next to her.

“Gonna tell me why you were in the ER?” she asked, not wasting a moment.

“That’s where I located Mr. Reese’s GPS coordinates,” he said matter of factly. “I thought that man…” he stopped, glancing down at his shoes.

“Hey. That wasn’t him. He’s in surgery,” Carter said directly. “Finch. Look at me.”

Harold half-heartedly looked up from the floor.

“He’s going to be fine.” She smirked, grabbing her friend’s hand.

“Thank you, detective.”


	2. Chapter 2

John woke up slowly. He clenched his fists together and a pain lanced up his shoulder. He bit back a groan.

“John?” Harold’s voice cut through the fog of pain and sleep. “You’re safe…”

John’s eyes cracked open and his eyes landed on Harold. He let out a breath. At least he was in friendly territory. He tried to sit up, but he realized that his arm was immobilized. His head was throbbing and he noticed the feeling that something was pressed against his head, making it feel heavy.

“Do you…” Harold swallowed hard, not quite sure of what to say. “Do you know where you are? What happened?”

John took a second, trying to gauge his surroundings, but the pain medication that was floating through his system was making him foggy. He hated this feeling, trying to fight it as much as he could. “We finished up a number, didn’t we?” he croaked out, his throat suddenly too dry.

Harold grabbed a cup of water from a bedside table and stood up. He held the straw to John’s lips. John sucked down the cold liquid gratefully. He made eye contact with his boss, overwhelmingly tired and drugged, he could have thought he saw a tear at the corner of Harold’s eye.

“Yes. We finished up with Mr. Wallace,” he set the water back down on the table, “you were on your way back to the library when you were in an accident.”

It came back to John in flashes. The rush of saving a life, stopping a murder before it happened, and heading back to the library to spend the rest of the evening with Harold and Bear. But then he remembers the crash and pain, a lot of pain.

“What’s the damage…?” John asked, lifting up his arm that wasn’t confined to a sling and pressing his fingers to his head. He found a heavy, soft, bandage covering the side of his head.

Harold swallowed hard, “A fractured skull and a brain bleed, among other things…” He sat back down, placing his hand on John’s arm. “Dislocated shoulder, broken pelvis, and a broken femur.” Harold looked John in the eyes, “You were extremely lucky, Mr. Reese…” Harold added in a soft voice.

“What about the other person… in the other car?” John asked, not paying attention to his boss’s obvious emotional distress.

Harold was quiet for a moment and looked down towards the floor. He looked back up, “She didn’t make it, John.” He noticed his friend’s gaze go from questioning to upset. “It wasn’t your fault…” Harold added, trying to help his friend out somehow. “You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

John looked at his friend, “Yeah,” he said. His eyes fell closed, the medication doing its job for now, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

Harold patted him on the arm, “Go to sleep, John. You need your rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

John wanted to say something back. He didn’t know what, but ‘thank you’ felt like a good start. But he couldn’t seem to open his eyes back up again, and drifted off into his drugged nothingness.

#

Harold helped John up and out of the bed and into the wheelchair. John’s injuries would require months of immobility and then rehabilitation after that. Shaw had politely offered to help him during his rehab, but if Harold had to guess, John’s rehab would include running through the streets of New York chasing bad guys.

“I’ve spruced up your apartment rather nicely, Mr. Reese,” Harold remarked with a smile. He handed John his bag to hold and unlocked the wheelchair to wheel him out. “I’ve also taken the liberty of moving a few of my belongings in so that I can stay with you while you recover.”

John’s heart skipped a beat. “Not necessary, Harold. I’ll be fine on my own. Not something I haven’t done before.”

Harold scoffed, “Yes, while I am aware of your ability to handle yourself, I’d feel much better if I could be there for you.”

John didn’t reply, just sat in silence for the remainder of the trip out of the hospital and to the entrance where Fusco had the car waiting for them.

“Hey, Wonderboy, ready to go?” Fusco asked with a smile. The Detective had been shaken up over the accident. He was the first one on-site when it happened. He was the one who helped the paramedics get John out of the car.

“I guess,” John replied, looking around. It was nice to be outside after spending the last week inside.

Fusco moved to help John into the car. With his arm still in a sling, his leg in a cast, and his head with a freshly cut scar from his ear to his temple, he looked worse for wear. Not to mention the scrapes and bruises all over his body.

“I can get it…” he hissed, trying to push himself up with one arm but failing miserably.

“Hey, listen, Superman. I’m doing this for glasses, not you. So you can accept my help or sit in that wheelchair until ya rot. I don’t care either way,” Fusco replied, not flinching at John’s foul mood. “Alright then, let’s go,” he added when John didn’t say anything.

#

John maneuvered his wheelchair into the apartment, halting by the kitchen. Harold came in through the door, an armful of groceries with him.

“Mr. Reese, I’ll set these groceries down and then I will help you to bed. That chair can’t be comfortable…” he hurried to set down the supplies and moved behind John to wheel him to his bed.

“Any way we can cut back on the meds? I feel like a zombie,” John asked out of the blue. He was not a fan of the medication that his body needed to recover. No matter how sensible it seemed, he really didn’t want to be senseless all the time. Especially with Harold unprotected at the moment.

“Unfortunately not…” Harold started, “if you get too behind on them, your pain will sneak up on us and take a while to get back under control.”

John knew Harold must be speaking from experience. He sighed heavily. The fogginess from his latest round of medication already creeping in and taking his alertness from him.

“Now… I’m afraid I’m not much help with the…” Harold looked for the words, “heavy lifting as you would call it. But I can do my best.”

John smirked and motioned for Harold to move in front of him. “Just guide me. I think that’ll work best. You’re good at guiding people, eh Finch?”

Harold smiled at his friend, “Of course.”

Harold helped John stand, holding him steady. He gripped his arm, leading him to the edge of the bed. But John’s leg seemed to give out and Harold had to grab onto him tighter, wrapping his arms around John’s chest so that he didn’t hit the floor.

John let out a yelp at the pain the motion caused his shoulder. He took a few deep breaths.

Harold got him down to sit on the bed, and in his relief, he found himself running his hand over John’s salt and pepper hair before he even realized what he was doing. “I’m sorry about that, John…” he apologized and took his hand away.

“Don’t worry about it, Finch…” John replied quietly, finding that he enjoyed the tender display. Human contact was always something he didn’t realize he was missing until it happened. The few times it actually did happen.

Harold noticed his friend’s energy-depleting rapidly and helped him to lay down and placed a blanket over him. Once he had John situated and as comfortable as he could manage, he turned to walk away when he heard him murmur something. “John?” he asked.

“Thank you, Harold…” John murmured again, a small smile playing on his lips as his eyes closed.

Harold smiled in return, “Get some rest, John.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harold sat on the couch in the living area of John’s loft, a small table lamp turned on and a book in his lap. He caught himself gazing at John, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully in his bed. He felt something in his chest. He didn’t know what it exactly was, but he hadn’t felt it in a long time.

He’d never thought that he would… _feel…_ the way he did when one of his… when _John_ got hurt. The gut-wrenching fear in his stomach when he saw that man dying in the ER and he thought it was John still hadn’t completely gone away.

John was so hurt. So injured, and he physically ached for the pain that he saw him go through daily now. Even if John tried to hide it as well as he could, Harold could see through his façade.

 _‘No…_ ’ he heard from the bed. _‘Please…’_ John was starting to writhe around. His sling was tangled around his arm and Harold knew now that his sleep had not been peaceful at all.

He put his book down and got up slowly to make his way over to his friend. This was the first time he’d seen John go through one of these… He didn’t quite know how to react, but he certainly couldn’t allow John to continue; he was at risk of hurting himself further.

“John…” he said quietly, putting his hand over John’s clenched fist. “Wake up. It’s me, Harold…” He moved his hands over John’s cheek and forehead, trying to rouse him.

John woke up with a start, sweat dripping down his face and pooling at the base of his neck. He looked at Harold with wide eyes. “What…?” he gasped, eyes darting around.

“You were having a nightmare… I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Harold said softly, motioning to John’s arm in the sling wrapped around awkwardly. “May I…?”

John nodded, taking a breath. He did his best to sit up, allowing Harold to help him when he needed it. Harold took his sling off gently, unwrapping the knotted mess that John had somehow gotten himself into. He fixed the straps and carefully helped John back into the support. “There, good as new.”

John smiled, “Thanks, Harold…” he wasn’t looking directly at his friend.

“I don’t mean to pry, Mr. Reese… but would you like to talk about it?” Harold asked. He already knew the answer, but why not try? It was 3 a.m. and he was exhausted.

“No thanks,” John replied. “Is it too late to get something to eat?” John asked, trying to change the subject as his stomach growled. He didn’t really want to tell Harold that he’d been having nightmares of him being in the car with him. John always survived… but Harold was never as lucky. 

“I make a mean grilled cheese…” Harold winked at his friend and stood up from the bed, _‘Where did that come from?’_ he thought awkwardly and headed towards the kitchen.

\---

Once he was finished preparing the food, Harold brought over their plates and drinks with table trays. He set John up, handing him a couple of pain pills, giving John a determined look so that he would actually take them.

“Come on in, Harold. There’s plenty of room,” John said, swallowing the pills down with a swig of water. “I don’t bite,” he added after Harold just stood there and stared at him for a second.

“Of course…” Harold smirked and removed his shoes and jacket. He slipped into John’s bed, feeling like he was vastly invading his employee’s privacy. But John had offered so… why not?

“Let’s see if the grilled cheese is as good as you say it is…” John chuckled as he took a bite of his sandwich. He groaned after he swallowed the first bite, an appreciative smile on his face. He took a drink of water and sighed.

Harold laughed, almost choking on his own water. “You’re far too kind, Mr. Reese…”

“No. That would be you…” John replied. “You don’t have to stay here and help, you know? I don’t want to be a burden. You have other people to help.”

Harold rolled his eyes. “When will you understand, John, you are not a burden. You are far more important to me than those _other_ people.”

John raised a brow.

“Besides, Miss Shaw and the detectives can handle things at the moment. Don’t worry about it. I’m working my own number right now.” Harold looked at John and smiled.

John had been trained to read people. He’d been trained to spot liars and the like. The scary thing was that he knew Harold wasn’t lying. He knew that he was telling the truth. But he didn’t want to believe him. He didn’t matter. Harold was the one who mattered. Not John. He didn’t know how Harold could even look at him after he caused this accident.

John didn’t know how to reply to the genius sitting next to him. He just took a few more bites of his sandwich and changed the subject again. “So, what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever hacked into?” he asked genuinely curious.

Harold’s eyes narrowed behind his thick black frames and the side of his mouth quirked up, “If I told you… I’d have to kill you…”

#

Harold jerked awake, his neck giving a painful twinge as he did so. The clock on the wall read half past noon. John was still asleep, his mouth slightly open and his hair ruffled sideways. They must have fallen asleep like that last night after their late dinner. Harold noticed the scar on his head. He’d never get used to it. The thought that John had just had his skull cut open… it was horrible.

He was so beautiful. Inside and out. He had fallen in love with John Reese. Harold had come to that realization a while ago but filed it away in the back of his mind and tried to forget. He could never act on it, because he if he did, he’d lose him, and he couldn’t handle that. He _needed_ John… for the mission… and for himself.

The occasional razzing and teasing that John did would always make his cheeks red, or make him smile… but that was all he would ever have. He had accepted that a long time ago.

He slid out of the bed as carefully as he could, adjusting the blankets back and fixing his side of the bed. He made his way into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the day, leaving John sound asleep, waiting to wake him for his morning pill regimen and breakfast.

# 

There wasn't really a specific moment that John fell in love with Harold. It was when Harold took Leila from the hospital and John saw how adorable he could be when he got impulsive. It was when they got to play pretend parents together and John could only think about how much he wished it were real.

It was when Harold whispered in John's ear when they were undercover in one of their earliest cases; even though John couldn't yet begin to understand the tingles it sent down his spine. It was when Finch continued to surprise him and make him feel special every single day.

He hadn't realized he was in love immediately, and once he did, he knew that he could never let Harold know. He was happy enough with the time they spent together. As long as he could keep him safe, and serve at his side, John would be content. Deep down John knew that his own survival was unlikely for very long, but he would be damned if he ever let Finch get so much as another scratch.

“Mr. Reese, would you like scrambled eggs or regular?” Harold called from the kitchen.

John smiled, “Scrambled, please and thank you,” he replied from his spot on the couch. His legs were propped up on a footstool that Harold had brought home for him on day one of his recovery. It was the little things that never ceased to amaze him.

Harold was a very private person. He made that profusely clear, and anyways, John was confident his heart was still with his fiancé.

Sometimes he would catch Harold with his guard slightly more down than usual with an almost longing look in his eyes, and Reese knew he was thinking about her.

As much as John didn't want to seem ungrateful for Harold letting him know such an intimate part of his history, and as much as John loved that Harold trusted him enough to become John's best, and possibly only friend, as soon as Grace told Officer Stills they were engaged, John knew he wasn't the one for Harold… and never would be.

Harold arrived with the breakfast and handed John his plate, “Here you are, scrambled per your request.”

“Thank you,” John replied, digging in with his fork. He noticed the pills Harold had set on the end table beside him. The 4 pills, 4 times daily were becoming a hassle and just downright annoying. John looked at his friend with sad eyes, practically begging him to forget about the pills. John always acted like he didn’t like how they made him feel.

But the truth was, it meant less time he’d get to spend with Harold. He was getting 24hr access to the man, but 14 of those hours were usually when he was knocked out from the narcotics.

“Don’t give me that look. You need your medication, John,” Harold said as he set down next to his friend with his food in his hands as well.

John groaned and continued to eat his eggs, watching the television where a college basketball game was being played.

“Who are we rooting for?” Harold asked with a smirk on his face.

God, that smirk was something John would never get tired of seeing. “As if you don’t know…” John replied, his brow furrowed. The two teams playing were Oregon and Washington.

“What?” Harold asked innocently. After a while of John just staring at him with an unamused look on his face, he added, “Oh fine. But not everyone likes their home state’s team, John.”

John rolled his eyes and continued eating. They sat there in companioned silence with the only sound being that of the TV and their forks hitting the plate. It was peaceful and something John was going to sorely miss once they returned to normal life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have it! The two goons finally fall in love ;) 
> 
> Thanks as always to M_E_Lover for everything she does!! 
> 
> Stay safe out there, everyone! I'm glad we have the Archive to run to, to keep our minds off the mess in RL right now.

“John… you have to take it easy. It’s still too soon after the accident to be so aggressive with yourself,” Harold said late one evening when he had come out of the loft’s computer room to John find struggling with his crutches, sweat dripping down his face, and his whole body shaking.

John didn’t say anything, just continued to try to push himself to make the journey to the bookshelf and back. It was a milestone he had set himself to when he started to walk with the crutches. Shaw had given it to him for something to practice while she was gone, now that his arm was out of the sling.

Yet somehow, Harold didn’t think she meant to do it 20 times a night.

“John…” Harold said again. He was standing behind the kitchen counter, waiting for John to acknowledge him. “You’re going to hurt yourself…”

“A little late for that,” John huffed. When he tried to take another step, he fell to the ground, a loud ‘ _thud_ ’ as he collided with the floor. The crutches clattered to the ground as well.

Harold rushed to his side and slowly got down to his knees, “Are you okay?” he asked, a little out of breath.

John didn’t move or say anything. He just laid on the floor, facing the wall with his back facing his friend.

Harold put his hand on John’s shoulder, “Mr. Reese…” he pleaded.

John turned to look at his friend, his eyes bloodshot and watery. Sweat was still dripping from his face from the overexertion. “I can’t do this anymore…”

“Can’t do what?” Harold asked quietly.

“I shouldn’t be here. I should have been the one who died in that accident. Not that woman. She had kids, Harold. A husband… _a life_.”

Harold’s heart sunk at the sight of his friend so out of sorts, “John…”

“No. I have nothing. No one.” He swallowed hard, “no one would have missed me.”

Harold’s brows furrowed and it felt like John had just kicked him in the chest, “How can you be that selfish?” he replied heatedly.

John looked at him, confused.

“You have to know damn well what you mean to me. Don’t act as no one would miss you. I would be _lost_ without you, John. But maybe I don’t count.” Harold felt tears start to well up at the corners of his eyes. “Come on… let’s get you off the floor…” he added without another word.

He helped John get up and over to the couch. John sunk down gratefully into the soft sofa. He let out a breath and his head fell back to the couch cushion.

Harold sat down on the coffee table and put his hand on John’s knee, “You mean an infinite amount to me, John,” he started, his throat raw with emotion. “I can not even fathom losing you.”

He didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep or the way John was looking at him, but before he realized what was happening, Harold slid his hand up over John's neck, leaned up, and kissed him. His insides leaped, his heart started to tell him all the numerous reasons this is a terrible idea, but, oh, John is stunningly beautiful.

After a second, he pulled back. His eyes closed and his heart was shattering in his chest. This was it. He’d ruined it, “I’m so sorry…” he started, his mind moving a million miles a minute. “I just… I…” Before he could finish, John sat forward and took his face in his hands.

“Harold… relax…” John's eyes softened, crinkling at the edges. He smiled softly.

He let go of Harold's face and wrapped his hand around Harold's neck, his other hand gripping Harold's side underneath his suit jacket. Harold had to slide his other arm up to John's shoulder so he wasn’t trapped by John's embrace.

Harold broke the embrace again, “Please… don’t do this if you don’t mean it…” he gasped, tears starting to streak down his face.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” John asked, a slight smile on his face.

“Because you’re… you. And I’m just a crippled, used up, grouchy old man,” Harold said and it sounded like a sob.

John looked deep into his friend’s blue eyes, “Don’t say that. You’re amazing, Harold. You’re beautiful.”

John pressed his lips to Harold’s again. They kissed slow but insistent, years pent up between them which Harold had denied, but now appearing with total clarity.

John kissed deeply, with such feeling behind it Harold thought he’d never be able to match it; he kissed Harold as though Harold may change his mind. Yet now that they have crossed this bridge, Harold could never change his mind. That was the scary part.

"John," Harold murmured softly into their kiss.

John hummed against Harold's lips but didn’t stop. If anything he pressed closer to Harold, his kisses became more frenzied. The skin of John's neck burned hot under Harold's fingers. He shifted his hand down, two fingers beneath John's collar and his thumb at the hollow of John's throat. 

They parted, their faces mere inches apart. John reached up slowly and wiped the tears from Harold’s cheek away.

“You’ve saved me… more than once,” John started, “when I didn’t deserve saving…”

“That’s your opinion…” Harold interrupted.

John smiled, the first real smile Harold has seen from him in months, “I can’t fathom losing you either,” John adds, not taking his eyes from Harold’s.

“I guess we’ll both just have to be more careful…” Harold chuckled.

“I guess we will…” John agreed, his lips returning to Harold’s with a smirk.

Harold pulled away and grinned suggestively, “I believe I have the perfect way to help you with your recovery…” he stated and began unbuttoning John’s shirt.


End file.
